


Nothing and Everything

by trufaxx



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufaxx/pseuds/trufaxx
Summary: After the Great War, Arya Stark must become the Lady of Winterfell. Her lover, the newly-legitimized Gendry Baratheon, is nearly two thousand miles away at Storm's End. They attempt to balance their responsibilities with their love for each other, but the consequences of their choices threaten to ruin everything.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fiction I've written in almost 20 years and my first fanfic ever. I welcome criticism and comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Fair warning: This isn't a happy, fluffy story. Everyone has made absolutely terrible choices. But at least they're alive and there are babies, right? It's OK, you can hate me.

They’d all lost so much. Homes. Love. Hope. Family, friends, strangers. Their Queen.

When the Great War ended, Westeros was unrecognizable. King’s Landing was a burnt ruin, destroyed in a blinding flash of wildfire. Cersei had taken nearly a million people with her when she killed herself, including Daenerys Targaryen and her remaining dragon, Drogon. 

Jon Targaryen, who had led the successful fights against both the Army of the Dead and the Usurper Queen, found himself a king without a throne. Without a queen. And the father of a small silver-haired boy named Aemon. 

King Jon settled at Harrenhal and began the work of putting Westeros back together. He’d never wanted to rule, but the responsibility had fallen to him. He would do the best he could to rebuild. His son deserved to inherit a kingdom at peace.

He counted himself lucky to have allies in most of the kingdoms. Friends and family connections secured the support of the North, the Vale, the Reach, the Westerlands, the Iron Islands, and the Riverlands. Dorne had long supported the Targaryen claim to the throne. And the Lords of the Stormlands, ever loyal to House Baratheon, were won over by the legitimization of King Robert’s last surviving bastard. 

Westeros began to rebuild.

\--------------

The North was nearly empty. Most of the Northern survivors of the Night King’s attack were living as refugees in the south. People were slowly starting to return, but many holdfasts in the North would fall to ruin.

Arya and Bran Stark had come home to Winterfell after Jon’s coronation. Their sister Sansa had been killed as they had all fled south ahead of the Army of the Dead. To Arya’s dismay, she was now Lady Stark of Winterfell.

Six moons after their return, Lady Stark gave birth to a black-haired, blue-eyed boy. Taking a cue from Alysane Mormont and her bear, Arya joked that her son had been fathered by a direwolf. When a raven arrived from King Jon congratulating Lady Stark on the birth of her son Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell, the scandalized whispers quieted somewhat. Who could argue with the King?

Two years later, nine moons after a trip south to attend a tournament, a second son arrived. Rickard Stark was the spitting image of his older brother.

Each time Lady Stark traveled south, all of Winterfell watched to see if her belly would swell upon her return. Four years after Rickard’s birth, it did again, and raven-haired little Lyarra joined the family.

Lady Stark needed heirs, and as she refused to marry, this strange arrangement would have to do. In the aftermath of the Great War, some rules had loosened by necessity. And if the King allowed the children to be considered legitimate, who could question it?

But Lady Stark’s claim that her children’s father was a direwolf? No. No one at Winterfell believed that. Their father was a stag.


	2. Betrothal (18 years after)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fiction I've written in almost 20 years and my first fanfic ever. I welcome criticism and comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Fair warning: This isn't a happy, fluffy story. Everyone has made absolutely terrible choices. But at least they're alive and there are babies, right? It's OK, you can hate me.

_Eighteen years after the Great War_

Arya’s children had joined her and Bran for breakfast in her solar. They were just finishing their meal when Arya noticed Maester Mychal standing in the open doorway. She smiled and beckoned him into the room.

“Lady Stark? A raven for you.”

He handed her the parchment, which bore the red wax and three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen. Arya broke the seal and began to read what Jon had sent.

> _King Jon Targaryen is pleased to announce the betrothal of his son and heir Aemon Targaryen to Cassana Baratheon, only daughter of Lord Gendry and Lady Alys Baratheon._

Her only daughter, but not _his_ , Arya thought, glancing at Lyarra across the table. She swallowed hard. She tried to look over the included details of the wedding, but her head was swimming. Jon’s son was marrying Gendry’s daughter. What were those fools thinking? Had they not thought of the potential complications when they arranged the match?

“Mother? What is it? You look upset,” Robb questioned. 

Arya gathered her composure. “No, no, it’s good news. Prince Aemon is to be married.”

“Oh, a wedding!” gasped Lyarra. The girl had a romantic streak that reminded Arya of Sansa at that age. “A _royal_ wedding! Mother, may I have a new gown? When do we leave? Who is the Prince marrying?”

Arya noticed Bran looking at her sympathetically. He already knew, she thought. Of course he did. “The Prince is marrying Cassana Baratheon. And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I will go to the wedding alone. You will stay here with your uncle.”

The three young Starks began to protest, but Bran interceded. “I need to speak to your mother alone. Please excuse us. And close the door behind you.”

Robb, Rickard, and Lyarra reluctantly stood up from the table. The boys gave their mother confused glances as they left the room. Arya spotted her daughter mouthing the word _Please_ at her uncle as the girl pulled the door shut behind her.

Bran turned to his sister. “They have to go with you. We’re Jon and Aemon’s only family. Your children haven’t seen either of them in years; Lyarra doesn’t even remember them.”

Arya and her children had last visited Harrenhal seven years ago, when the boys were ten and eight and Lyarra was four. As Robb and Rickard began to mature from children to men, however, Arya knew she could no longer risk taking them south. No one who had ever met Gendry could mistake her handsome, black-haired, broad-shouldered boys for anything but his sons.

“And you know exactly why I cannot take them. Robb and Rickard cannot be in the same room as Gendry. Lyarra might escape notice, but the boys will not.”

“You had to know the truth would come out sometime.” 

Arya sighed. He was right; she had known that.

“But at his daughter’s wedding? I can’t…” she trailed off. She felt nauseated. They should never have kept the secret this long. Now they risked ruining a royal wedding with scandal; exposing the bride’s father as unfaithful to his wife in front of every high lord in in Westeros; shaming her children, who were still ignorant of their father’s identity.

“What were Jon and Gendry thinking?” Arya groaned.

“They did not plan it,” Bran replied. “Jon had hoped to match Aemon with the daughter of a Dornish lord, but Aemon and Cassana fell in love. There was no reason for their fathers oppose the match. Or at least no reason that they could share publicly. And perhaps they learned a lesson from what happened with you and Gendry.”

Arya harrumphed. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Bran watched his sister struggle with the situation. Finally, she sighed. “No. I can’t take them. But after the wedding is done, it’s time to tell the truth.”

Bran shook his head but held his tongue. He didn’t need to press the issue. He knew Jon’s letter, already in the hands of a rider on his way to Winterfell, would change his sister’s mind.


	3. Time (Immediately after the war)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fiction I've written in almost 20 years and my first fanfic ever. I welcome criticism and comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Fair warning: This isn't a happy, fluffy story.

_Two weeks after the end of the Great War_

Gendry sat against the wall of Aemon’s nursery, smiling down at Arya, who rested her head on his lap. Baby Aemon was sleeping on her chest; his little hand grasped the end of her braid.

In the sad days after the explosion at King’s Landing, Arya found some joy in caring for Aemon. The poor babe had lost his mother, and his father was consumed with his new responsibilities. Arya took on the role of doting aunt, making sure the boy wasn’t lacking for affection.

Arya was concerned about Jon. He hadn’t taken time to grieve for his wife. He spent his days speaking with advisers and meeting with various lords, trying to stabilize the kingdom. Judging by Jon’s brusque demeanor and the deep circles under his eyes, it was not going well. Arya, Bran, Gendry, and the Northerners returning to Winterfell were set to leave Harrenhal in a few weeks, after Jon’s coronation. Arya worried about leaving Jon in this state and about Aemon’s care without her. At least for now, the small prince had plenty of love and attention.

“He’s drooling on you,” Gendry whispered.

“That he is. Here, take him so I can clean up a bit.”

Gendry reached over and lifted Aemon into his arms as Arya disentangled the tiny fingers from her hair. The boy squeaked in protest, but Gendry soothed him back to sleep without much trouble. Arya sat up and brushed her shirt with a cloth, then turned to look at Gendry and the babe. “You’re good with him.”

Gendry grinned at the compliment.

 _He’ll be a good father someday_. The thought surprised her. She was even more surprised to realize that she rather liked the idea of it. Someday.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Ser Davos eased the door open and stepped into the room. He had an odd expression on his face as he surveyed the three of them on the floor. Wistful? Sad? She wasn’t sure.

“Gendry, the king needs to see you,” Davos said quietly, eyeing the sleeping child. Arya and Gendry exchanged puzzled looks.

“All right. Any idea what this is about?” Gendry queried.

Davos avoided the question. “Come on. Can’t keep His Grace waiting.”

Gendry passed Aemon back to Arya and stood up. He followed Ser Davos from the room, glancing at her over his shoulder as he walked away.

* * *

   


Arya waited in the nursery for what seemed like an eternity, but Gendry did not return. She left Aemon with his nurse and walked back to the room that she and Gendry had claimed as their own.

Her stomach was tied in knots. Something felt wrong. What did Jon want with Gendry, and why was it taking hours?

Arya laid on their bed waiting for him. The bed, the thick stone walls, and a door with a lock had seemed like such luxuries after so many nights in a tent. Finally, they had their own private place.

They’d started sharing a tent after Sansa died. Unable to bear being alone with her grief, Arya had crawled in beside Gendry and curled up next to him, sobbing into his chest. The next night, after dinner rations, he’d taken her hand and led her back there again. From then on they had slept in each other’s arms. It seemed right somehow. They were back in the Riverlands, where they’d spent so much time together years ago. They’d slept side-by-side then, and now they did again.

Their sleeping arrangement was the subject of much gossip in the camp, but at first it was relatively innocent. Nothing happened between them beyond a kiss.

Then, unexpectedly, something did happen. A goodnight kiss deepened, hands started exploring, and that was that. The first time had been tentative, fumbling, and over far too soon, but good enough that they tried again. With practice (and they practiced as often as they could manage) they learned how to please each other. They kissed away each other’s moans, bit shoulders, covered mouths to keep their pleasure quiet.

They were lucky that first month. Arya’s moonblood arrived a week after they started fucking, reminding them that they needed to be more cautious. After that, they tried to make sure Gendry finished in her mouth or her hands. A few times though, the best times, it felt too good to stop. They both knew it was a stupid risk, but they’d gambled on their luck more than once.

Arya didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have because the creaky hinge on the door woke her. How much time had passed? She turned toward the sound and saw Gendry closing the door behind him. He walked toward their bed, stopping to stand before her. Even in the dim light, she could see that he was struggling to maintain his composure. His blue eyes were rimmed in red. Gods, had he been crying?

“Gendry, what happened?”

He shook his head and sat next to her on the bed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Tears welled in his eyes.

Arya rose to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She planted a kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Tell me.”

He clenched his jaw, and the tears started to spill down his cheeks. After a shaky breath, he spoke. “Jon’s sending me to Storm’s End.”

“Storm’s End?” She could hear the surprise in her voice. “For how long?”

He took a deep breath and answered, “For good.”

Stunned, Arya sat back on her heels. She stared at him, not understanding, not believing.

“He’s legitimized me, Arya. Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. How ridiculous is that? But Jon’s sent word to the Citadel and all the lords of the Stormlands declaring it so. It’s done. It was done before I even knew what was happening. We leave the day after tomorrow. Me and Ser Davos.”

“The day after tomorrow?” she choked out.

He nodded, and continued in a rush, “I told him I couldn’t do it. I’m no lord. But he said there was no other way, that it had to be a Baratheon, and I’m the only one left. Arya, I don’t want this. I want to do what we planned. Go back to Winterfell, make a life together. But he didn’t give me a choice. What was I supposed to say?”

“You were supposed to say no!”

“I _did_. It didn’t matter. How do you refuse a king?”

You don’t refuse a king. Arya knew that. But this king was also her brother (she could never think of him as anything else), and that had to count for something.

Arya stood. “I’m going to go talk to Jon.”

“You can try, but I don’t think it will do any good. I’ve been trying to change his mind for hours. Davos tried too. But Jon doesn’t see another option.”

“ _This_ isn’t an option,” she hissed.

“Wait, Arya,” he whispered, his voice thick. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

She looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

Gendry’s voice was so low that she could barely hear it. “There’s another part to the arrangement. I must marry a daughter of one of the storm lords.”

Arya slapped him. They both froze, stunned at what she’d done.

“Arya…” he started, but she bolted from the room. She ran through the corridors to Jon’s solar. A guard stood outside his door, blocking her entry.

“Move. I need to speak to my brother.”

“His Grace will not be disturbed.”

“Fuck you. Move.”

The guard did not budge.

“Jon, you fucking coward!” she screamed in the direction of the closed door. “You are not going to avoid me!”

The guard dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Lady Stark. You must go.”

“What are you going to do? Cut down the king’s sister?” she taunted him.

The door opened. “Arya, get in here,” Jon commanded. The guard stepped aside, and she entered the room to see Ser Davos and Tyrion Lannister already there.

Jon addressed the two men. “If you’ll excuse us, I must speak with my sister.” As he left the room, Davos gave her a pitying look. Tyrion, however, refused to make eye contact.

As soon as they were alone, Jon spoke: “I know you’re angry with me, but…”

“What the fuck are you doing Jon?” she interrupted. “Why?”

“Let me explain. You know I would never do this to the two of you if I had any other choice. The Stormlands are the last piece.”

She tried to keep her voice calm. “Jon, you’re not thinking clearly. You look like you haven’t slept in days. All day and night you’re in this room, meeting and planning. You rarely even see your son!”

“I’m _doing this_ for my son. He’ll be king someday. Arya, how many rulers has Westeros had in the last decade? How many people have died? I have to make the right decisions _now_ , so he inherits a stable kingdom.”

“And you think that sending Gendry and me to opposite ends of the Seven Kingdoms is the right decision? How can that be? You of all people know what it’s like to lose someone.”

That angered him. “Gods, Arya, Gendry’s not dead. How dare you compare your situation to mine? Even if I couldn’t be with her, I’d give anything for Daenerys to be alive and well.”

“And if she were here, and your brother was forcing her to marry someone else for his own political gain, how would you feel then Jon?”

He had no reply to that. With a sigh, he tried to explain what had happened.

“I tried to find another way. I swear to you Arya, we all tried. We proposed other ideas, other men to be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. There was no agreement among the storm lords. Old slights and grievances became major points of contention. We all feared that the disputes would escalate to violence, or even another war. We couldn’t allow that to happen. We were trying anything we could think of. Then Tyrion proposed Gendry, a war hero, a friend of the king. The revival of House Baratheon. They were willing to consider it, and finally, they agreed.”

 _That’s why the Imp refused to look at me_ , she thought. _This was his idea._

“Let me go with him to Storm’s End. Bran can be Lord of Winterfell.”

“The marriage agreement was the condition of the storm lords’ acceptance. But even before that, I spoke to Bran, and I’m sure you already know what he said. He insists that he cannot shoulder this responsibility. He isn’t… himself anymore.” Before she could argue, Jon held up his hand to prevent the interruption. “Arya, even if he could, there’s another problem. Bran cannot produce an heir. House Stark will become extinct unless you…”

“What?” she snarled at him. “Marry someone else? Bear the children of a man I don’t love?”

His silence answered her questions.

“Fuck you Jon,” Arya spit. She turned on her heel and fled the room. She managed to hold her sobs long enough to slam the door behind her.

* * *

Somehow she found her way back to Gendry. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. _Two nights. One day. That’s all we have left together. We can’t waste this_ , she thought.

Arya pulled back a bit so she could see his face; her handprint was still livid across his cheek. She reached up to gently touch the mark. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

He cut her off with a kiss. She responded in kind, teasing his tongue with hers as she wound her fingers through his hair. Without breaking from her lips, he guided her backwards to the bed.

They eased each other’s clothes off and fell to the mattress. By now each of them knew the other’s body nearly as well as his or her own. They took their time, touching and tasting and enjoying every moment. He did all of her favorite things, and she his. They were careful though. She finished him with her mouth, knowing they couldn’t take stupid chances anymore.

Naked, sweaty, and momentarily sated, she lay curled into his side with her head on his chest.

“We could leave,” he said. “Take a ship to Essos.”

“I already tried that, remember? I tried to put Arya Stark behind me, to be No One. I couldn’t do it. I belong in Westeros.”

“I knew you’d say that. I had to ask though.”

They held each other in silence after that. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his chest hair as he started to doze off.

“Gendry? What you said earlier? You’re wrong. It isn’t ridiculous—you’ll be a fine lord.” she whispered. “If only it didn’t ruin everything.”

Already mostly asleep, Gendry only responded with a hum.

* * *

They did not waste their two nights and one day.

When their time ran out, they said their goodbye in their room. They wanted it to be between them, and only them.

There were tears, kisses, long embraces, and a final whisper in her ear: “Goodbye m’lady. I love you.”

* * *

Arya spent the next week alone in her room. Her room now, not theirs. She felt ill and exhausted. _Is this what a broken heart feels like?_ she wondered. She’d suffered so much loss in her life—the deaths of her parents, two brothers, a sister, a goodsister, countless friends and acquaintances—but this was different. She’d never been physically affected like this before. She had trouble eating much, and she slept more hours than she was awake. Jon came to visit a few times, but she refused to speak to him.

It was the thought of Aemon that finally convinced her to end her solitude. Arya hadn’t seen him since the afternoon that had changed everything. She’d be leaving for Winterfell in a few weeks; she would miss spending time with the sweet silver-haired babe. Hiding in her room was a waste of precious time with him.

Arya cleaned herself up and dressed properly for the first time in a week. Although she still didn’t feel quite right, she forced herself to have breakfast. She managed to eat some bread with jam, a bit of apple, and some tea. She stepped out of her room, noticing two guards in the hallway outside. As she made her way to Aemon’s room, they followed her. _They’re to keep watch on me. Jon is worried I’ll run_ , she realized.

When Arya arrived at the nursery, Aemon was lying on a blanket, gleefully banging a wooden toy against the plank floor. Betha, Aemon’s nurse, crouched next to her charge, amused by his play.

“Lady Stark! It’s good to see you. Are you all right?” the woman asked, a concerned look on her face. “I think the babe missed you.”

“He looks like he’s been having a fine time without me,” she said, nodding to the happy child at her feet. She sat down on the floor next to Aemon and joined in his play. The wooden animals seemed to be a favorite. Arya made all the animal sounds for him, which made him giggle.

Betha sniffed the air. Grimacing, she stood and lifted the boy into her arms. “Time to change your swaddling clothes, little prince.”

The foul smell hit Arya’s nose, and her stomach lurched. She rose to her feet and tried to flee the room, but the nausea overwhelmed her before she could excuse herself. She dropped to her knees and vomited up everything she’d managed to eat that morning.

“M’lady! I knew you didn’t look well. You should see the maester,” said the nurse, who set Aemon down in his crib and grabbed a cloth to assist Arya.

“No, I don’t need the maester. I just haven’t felt like myself since Gendry left.”

Betha raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been feeling like this for a week?”

Arya, still on her knees, heaved again, then nodded. A knowing look came over Betha’s face.

“M’lady? Please forgive my boldness, but I have to ask. When was the last time you bled?”

The last time she bled? _Oh fuck._ Arya thought her heart had stopped. She tried to count back, but couldn’t come up with a better answer than _not recently enough_. If she hadn’t already emptied her stomach, she’d have lost her breakfast then.

“Maybe I should see the maester.”

* * *

Arya stood outside Jon’s solar, trying to figure out the best way to share her news. She fiddled with the vial of ginger in her pocket. The maester said ginger tea would help with the nausea, which would probably pass in a few weeks.

 _Better to get this over with_ , she thought. She knocked, and a guard opened the door. Jon looked relieved to see her. “Arya. Finally ready to talk to me?”

He dismissed the guard and asked her to have a seat. She saw him worriedly studying her face, which she knew was pale and drawn. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jon was waiting for her to speak first, but she didn’t know how to tell him what she’d come to say.

At last she blurted it out. “I’m pregnant.”

Jon just stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. She thought he was trying to calm himself before he spoke. “How far?”

“A little more than two moons.”

He stood and walked to the window, his back facing her. _He doesn’t want to look me in the eye._ The realization made her furious.

“What right do you have to be upset with me anyway?” she shouted. He turned to face her. “I seem to remember that Aemon was in Daenerys’s belly before the two of you married. And if you hadn’t separated Gendry and me, it wouldn’t matter anyway. We’d marry and this babe wouldn’t be born a bastard and I’d be _happy_ instead of fucking miserable!”

“Arya, stop yelling! I’m not angry. And you’re right, I can’t say anything about this without being hypocritical.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Just calm down. I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

“Let me go to Storm’s End,” she begged, tears in her eyes. “Please Jon.”

“If I could, I would escort you there myself. But this doesn’t change the reasons that you must be in the North and he has to be in the Stormlands. I swear to you Arya, if I could have found any way resolve it differently, I would have.”

“How can this not change anything? It changes _everything_. As soon as Gendry learns of this, he’ll be riding north.”

Jon looked pained at her words. “I have no doubt that’s true. And that’s why you can’t tell him yet.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to keep this from him!”

“Not for long. Just until you’re back in Winterfell and he’s...” Jon paused, choosing his words carefully, “more settled.”

 _He means married_ , she realized. _He wants me to wait until Gendry’s married to someone else._ Blind rage took control of her body. Before she knew what she was doing, she rushed at Jon and swept his feet out from under him. He hadn’t expected the attack and was unable respond in time to block her. As he hit the floor, she leapt onto his chest and began pummeling him with her fists. Jon was extraordinarily lucky that she hadn’t been carrying her dagger.

Jon caught her left fist in his right hand and swiftly twisted the arm behind her back. She was briefly thrown off balance by the capture of her dominant hand. He took advantage of the moment, using his left leg and arm to shove her to the side. Unable to brace herself, she landed on her shoulder at his side. Jon let go of her hand and scrambled backwards. They both struggled to their feet.

Brother and sister stared at each other. She’d split his lip in the fight, and he’d likely have a few bruises on his face. Considering she’d just assaulted him, Arya expected to see anger in Jon’s eyes, but there was none. She saw misery, grief, and regret instead.

Arya suddenly understood why he hadn’t wanted to look her in the eye earlier: he was ashamed of the decision he’d had to make. Torn between being a good king and a good brother, Jon had chosen the stability of realm over her happiness. And he hated himself for it. _He should_ , she thought. But this was Jon: her dearest brother, her oldest friend. He’d lost even more than she had and now found himself burdened with more than he could handle.

“You’re lucky I sent the guard out,” he said quietly. She nodded in response.

After another moment, Arya slowly walked towards her brother. He was understandably wary, but at the sight of the tears that had started streaming down her face, Jon reached out his hand to her. They pulled each other into a hug, Arya’s tears wetting the front of Jon’s shirt. He whispered into her ear, “I’m so sorry.”

“I still can’t forgive you for this.”

“I know Arya.”

She nodded again and pulled away. With a shaky sigh, she put a hand on her still-flat belly. “So. Another Snow in Winterfell.”

Jon’s eyes met hers. “No. The babe will be a Stark. I’m the fucking king. I can at least do that much.”


	4. Revelation (18 years after)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fiction I've written in almost 20 years and my first fanfic ever. I welcome criticism and comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Fair warning: This isn't a happy, fluffy story.
> 
> A quick response to a few comments on the last chapter regarding Jon’s decisions. I drew from Jon’s actions in A Feast for Crows, where he shows a willingness to make choices that are hurtful to those he cares about, including separating parents from their children, when he feels those choices are necessary. This quote is from AFFC, Samwell III:
> 
> He could not blame Gilly for her grief. Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone. Once he asked Maester Aemon that very question, when Gilly was down at the canal fetching water for them. "When you raised him up to be the lord commander," the old man answered.
> 
> And now Jon is king, tasked with putting a ruined kingdom back together and ensuring stability that will last until his son takes the throne. He's grieving and under intense pressure. With this in mind, I don’t think his choices were out of character. Dear reader, you are of course welcome to disagree with me, but as this is my story, off we go.

_Eighteen years after the Great War_

Arya knew that the identity of her children’s father was a prime subject for gossip. Most of the rumors were probably correct. It was no secret that Arya and Gendry had been together during the war. Any determined and observant person could figure out that they’d seen each other around the times she had gotten pregnant, and the children’s resemblance to the Lord of Storm’s End would be unmistakable to anyone who’d ever met him. Still, she tried to keep the secret.

When she reflected on her situation, Arya’s thoughts often turned to her father. Eddard Stark had successfully concealed Jon’s parentage for sixteen years. As far as Arya knew, he’d never revealed the truth to anyone. Of course, the stakes for her father’s silence were incomparable to hers—the revelation of her father’s secret would have risked Jon’s life and potentially his own. For Arya, the risk was only shame and scandal. She and Gendry would rightfully get the worst of it, but their children wouldn’t be spared the disgrace, nor would Jon for his part in covering it up. And how badly would Gendry’s wife and two legitimate children react?

The last time Arya had seen Jon, they’d argued over her decision to keep the truth from her children. Jon insisted that her sons, who were eight and ten at the time, deserved to know who they were. Arya didn’t disagree, but she believed they were too young. She would tell them when they were older, when they could understand the situation better. In hindsight, she probably should have listened to him. On this particular subject, who would know better than Jon? But as she thought back on the disagreement, Arya had to admit that her lingering resentment towards her brother clouded her judgment of his well-intentioned advice, which she had ignored. Now, seven years later, her sons were nearly grown. She had no more excuses. _After I return from Aemon’s wedding_ , she promised herself. 

Arya had enough to worry about in the meantime. She was to travel south in a few weeks, and much needed to be done before then. Bran could handle most routine matters in her absence, but she wanted to resolve as much as possible before she left. Staying busy also helped her avoid thinking about what awaited her at Harrenhal. She would have to meet Lady Alys, something Arya had managed to avoid to this point. And, of course, she’d see Gendry. She’d see him with his wife and children, celebrating the happy occasion of his daughter’s marriage. Arya had a sick feeling in her gut at the thought of it.

Gendry’s _other_ daughter was currently being a thorn in her mother’s side. Still resentful about Arya’s decision to attend the wedding alone, Lyarra was refusing to speak to her. Every time the girl saw her mother, she bore a stubborn, sullen expression that Arya remembered all too well from another face. She’d have to try to make peace with her daughter before her trip.

Arya was sitting in her solar, poring over a ledger, when a guard knocked on the frame of her open door. A stranger stood by his side.

“Lady Stark,” the guard said. “Apologies for the interruption. There’s a messenger for you.”

The unfamiliar man entered and handed her a thick folded parchment. “M’lady, correspondence from the king. I was to deliver this directly to your hand.”

Arya’s stomach knotted. Whatever was in the letter, it was too important or personal to send by raven. _Not likely to be good news_ , she thought.

She thanked the men and dismissed them, closing the door behind them. Settling back at her desk, she broke the red wax seal and unfolded the parchment. A second letter that had been enclosed within the first fell to the floor; Arya picked it up and examined it. “Lady Stark” was written across it in an unfamiliar feminine hand. Turning it over, she saw the Baratheon sigil pressed into the golden wax seal. No, this was definitely not good news.

Arya broke the second seal, dreading what was inside. The message was brief, but it said everything.

 

Lady Stark, 

My husband wishes to know his sons and daughter. My children wish to meet their brothers and sister. As your children have done nothing wrong, I am willing to allow the meetings.

You and I have nothing to say to one another.

You will not speak to my husband.

Lady Alys Baratheon

 

 _Fuck_.

Over the years, Gendry had insisted that his wife didn’t know. She didn’t know that her husband had three other children, or that, even though they often went years without seeing one another, he and Arya had continued their relationship long after he’d said his marriage vows to Alys.

Well, she knew now. The hatred that had gone into the strokes of the quill was almost palpable. Arya couldn’t blame the woman. No one could argue that Alys did not have good reasons to detest Arya.

Lady Baratheon might have forgiven her husband for the first child. Robb had been conceived before Gendry and his wife met, and Gendry had already left for Storm’s End before Arya realized she was pregnant. He hadn’t even known about the pregnancy until after Robb’s birth. But Rickard and Lyarra? There was no denying that they had been conceived during the marriage. They were living, breathing proof that Alys’s husband had been unfaithful.

 _Did he tell her how long it went on?_ she wondered. Although their reunions were infrequent, Gendry had been in her bed as recently as five years ago. Arya hadn’t seen him since then.

She turned her attention to Jon’s letter.

 

Little sister,

I know you have received word of Aemon and Cassana’s betrothal. None of us expected them to make a match, but they are very much in love. Neither Gendry nor I had the heart to refuse them permission to marry.

While the marriage is happy news, the complications that arise from the union are obvious. The Baratheons and the Starks will have to see one another at family occasions, beginning with this wedding. It cannot be avoided any longer.

Gendry has confessed to Alys. She knows about the two of you, and about your children. He felt it was better to admit to everything before you and Alys see one another, and I agree. I hope an unpleasant public scene can be avoided.

At her request, I have enclosed a letter from Lady Alys.

We will talk more when you arrive at Harrenhal. I am looking forward to seeing all of you. It’s been far too long.

Your loving brother,

Jon

 

Bran had been right when they’d spoken before—she’d known the truth would come out eventually. _Eventually_ had arrived. _I guess we’re all going to the wedding_ , she thought. _This is going to be hell_.

After so many years of avoidance, Arya knew she could no longer put off the uncomfortable conversations with her children. They deserved to know who their father was. And in just a few weeks, they would finally get to know him. They deserved that too. Only Robb had ever met Gendry, and he’d been barely a year old at the time.

She decided to start with the boys. At seventeen and fifteen respectively, Robb and Rickard would recognize the complexities of the situation better than their little sister. However, they would also understand exactly what she and Gendry had done. Arya wasn’t sure how she’d handle the judgment of her sons, however well-deserved it may be.

She summoned them to her solar. Arya waited at her desk, gnawing at her lip, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject. When they knocked on the door, she waved them into the room. Although they were two years apart in age, Robb and Rickard could nearly pass for twins. Robb had broader shoulders and curlier hair; Rickard was a few inches taller than his elder brother and his jaw was slightly more square. Otherwise, the two young men looked remarkably alike.

“You wanted to talk to us?” Robb questioned. When she nodded, he closed the door and both of them sat down across from her.

She decided that directness was the best option. “I need to talk to you about your father.”

Her sons exchanged glances. “Lord Baratheon? What about him? Does this have something to do with the wedding?” Robb asked.

Arya was dumbfounded. “You know?”

Rickard answered for them, “Mother, we’ve known for a while. A couple years.” Robb nodded in agreement.

How could she not have realized? The Game of Faces had taught her to spot every lie, but that was no help when a subject was simply avoided. Still reeling, she stuttered out, “Does… does Lyarra know too?”

Robb replied, “I don’t think so. But Mother? She may be the only person in this castle who doesn’t.”

Arya felt her face flush. Had she been deceiving herself all these years? She apparently hadn’t managed to fool anyone, at least not in Winterfell. She was mortified. And more than that, she was furious with herself for not being honest with her children sooner _._

“Who told you?” _So I can remove his tongue_ , she finished in her head.

“It wasn’t one person. A castle has no secrets, and no shortage of gossip and stories. People make comments without thinking or noticing who’s nearby. Unless it’s _you_ , of course.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about any of this?”

Anger was seeping into Robb’s voice. “You’ve refused to discuss our father for our entire lives. How were we to know that had changed?”

He had a point.

Tears welled in Arya’s eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her frayed nerves. “I owe you all an apology. I wanted to protect you from the scandal, but clearly, I failed. You should have heard the truth from me long ago. I must admit, some of my reasoning for secrecy was selfish. I was embarassed. I still am. Gendry is married, and yet he’s your father. It’s not exactly a pleasant subject for a mother to discuss with her children.”

“Don’t think we’re any more comfortable hearing about it,” muttered Rickard.

Arya smiled weakly at that. “Well, I have a bit more to tell you. I hope this part is easier to hear. You’re all coming to the wedding with me. Both the prince and his bride are your family. You belong there.”

“I never understood why you didn’t want us to go, but I’m glad you changed your mind. We haven’t seen Aemon or the king in years. Will we…” Robb trailed off.

“Meet Gendry?” Arya finished for him. “Yes, you will. And Cassana and Lyonel, your half siblings. Gendry’s told them about you. He’s told his wife too.”

“Ah. So that’s what’s forced your confession.”

“It is,” she admitted, “although I had planned to talk about this after I returned. And when you see your father, you’ll understand better why I wasn’t going to bring you. You resemble him as much as you resemble each other.”

“So all the Baratheons know. What about the king?” asked Robb.

“Jon’s known from the beginning. He was the first person I told when I discovered I was pregnant with you,” she replied, nodding toward her older son. “And soon enough, everyone else will know too. But first, I must tell your sister.”

* * *

Arya found her daughter in the godswood. Lyarra sat by the pool, her back against the weirwood heart tree. She was still pouting. When she saw her mother approaching, she scrambled to her feet and started back towards the castle.

“You can go to the wedding,” Arya called after the girl. Lyarra froze.  

Arya continued: “And you can have a new dress. But I need to talk to you about something, so come back here and sit with me.” 

With a huge grin on her face, triumphant at having gotten her way, Lyarra returned to her previous position and looked at her mother expectantly. Arya sat down nearby on a moss-covered rock. She took a deep breath and began what was sure to be another awkward conversation.

“I need to tell you about your father.”

That surprised Lyarra. “My father? You never want to talk about him, whomever he may be. You always avoid the subject or tell the stupid direwolf story.”

“Well, I want to talk about him now.” Arya gathered her resolve to tell her daughter what she’d come to say. “Lya, Lord Baratheon is your father. Gendry. We fell in love during the war. There is a lot more to the tale, but that’s what’s important. We were not able to marry. The king needed Gendry to rule Storm’s End, and I had to come back here. But we loved each other, and you and Robb and Rickard are the result.”

A horrified look came over Lyarra’s face as she realized exactly what Arya was telling her. She was only eleven, so the exact nature of the sins her parents had committed was beyond her understanding. Still, even a child her age knew that a husband belonged only to his wife. “But Mother, he’s _married_!”

“He is. And I can’t say what we did was right—it wasn’t. But you and your brothers are everything to me, so I don’t regret it.”

Lyarra’s face had a pained expression, the one that meant she was thinking hard about something. Arya waited for the questions.

“Cassana Baratheon is our half sister.”

“She is. You have a half brother Lyonel as well.”

“Then why weren’t you going to take us to the wedding? Our cousin is marrying our sister!”

Ayra tried to make her daughter understand. “Lya, I’ve been keeping this secret for eighteen years. Taking you to the wedding means exposing the truth. Most people know that Gendry and I were together before his marriage, and the three of you look so much like him, especially your brothers. That he’s your father would be obvious to everyone.”

“But you said we’re going. What changed your mind?”

“It’s not a secret anymore,” Arya explained with a sigh. “Gendry told his wife and children. He wants to meet you, as do Cassana and Lyonel.”

Lyarra thought about that for a moment. “His wife must hate you.”

Arya winced. “I think she does. I probably deserve it.”

After a moment, another question: “Mother? Do you still love him?”

The answer slipped out before she had time to think. “Yes.”  

The look of pity and sadness on her daughter’s face forced Arya to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay since the last chapter. Difficult conversations are difficult to write, especially as out-of-practice as I am.


End file.
